


Pity

by Dance_Elle_Dance



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Avengers (2012), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6908035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dance_Elle_Dance/pseuds/Dance_Elle_Dance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as she lays her eyes on him - standing next to Thor, wounded and tired and chained - she wants to slap him. (Originally posted on 5/25/12.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pity

**Author's Note:**

> Starting to re-post things again. I got out of it a while ago, but hopefully I can finish migrating all my fics over here relatively soon. Please enjoy!

She is strong, this Sif knows.

She has proven this time and time again with countless enemies. She has stood up to monsters, to men, and made them see her as equal. She has made friends with the opposite sex, when other ladies would not. She has trained and trained, time and time again, and has come out on top more often than not.

She is strong, and yet so weak at the same time.

This is one of the things she can't help but think as, in a flash of light, the two missing brothers are brought back to Asgard.

It is something that she is hardly used to, not using the Bifrost to go from place to place, but she steels herself and forces the stunned expression from her face.

Her eyes meet Thor's first.

The god of thunder looks solemn. He must be aware of what is coming, the trials, the judging, the fighting and the yelling and the crying. She feels for him, wants to reach out and place a comforting hand on his armored shoulder. The familiarity of him is almost heartbreaking, and seeing him so distraught is like another nail in the coffin.

And then…Mischief takes over her sights.

Sif moves her gaze to him. Chained and looking particularly helpless, with his silvery tongue unable to work its magic due to the bond placed over his mouth, she feels a slight amount of sadness for him, for this man she had once thought she knew so well.

That sadness is then trumped by anger.

Rage blinds her for a moment, and it is all she can do to restrain herself from throwing a fist in his direction.

Not just for his actions, though those are reprehensible at best, but because…because of the way he's making her _feel_ right now.

Sif has known him since she was very young. They had been warriors together. She, he, the warriors three, and the thunder god. They had fought together, played together, celebrated together. And then this darkness had been growing inside him the entire time. It is almost enough to bring tears to her eyes - tears of sadness, tears of anger, tears of frustration - but she doesn't allow them to surface.

He looks just as he always had, though his hair is longer and he looks wearier than she'd ever seen him. Green is still the predominant color of his clothing. Some things never change, she supposes. His eyes lack their normal bright, quizzical nature, and are reserved, almost abashed. There is still intellect in them, though, that has always been apparent. She lets her eyes trail over the skin that is exposed. Cuts that are only slightly healed adorn the bridge of his nose and cheeks and chin, and she wonders who caused them. She wonders this more intently than anything, and finds that this disturbs her.

She registers his name crossing her thoughts, almost like a phantom. She'd been trying so hard not to think his name, thinking that just by acknowledging it was actually him, it would make this whole thing real. It was silly, she knew, but what other logic could she use to prevent herself from becoming emotionally compromised?

_Loki…_ The sound of it in her thoughts is almost blasphemous, the way it breathes through her mind. She bites her cheek, drawing blood, almost to punish herself.

He has yet to look at her.

Sif knows not why this bothers her, but it does. It does and she feels like a traitor herself, for feeling _anything_ for the fallen Asgardian.

She finds herself desperate to meet his eyes, wanting him to at least acknowledge her presence. The anger has not yet ebbed from her body, and maybe she just wants a reason to throw herself at him, to injure him in a way he had not yet been. She thinks that maybe when their eyes meet, she will be able to -

He tilts his head in her direction.

Though defeated, he has not lost his regal posture. Though defeated, he has not lost that very thing that makes him _Loki_. She meets his gaze with one of her own, hoping it is as unwavering as she thinks it is.

His eyes, green as spring grass, meet hers. And it is the moment she has been tensing for, the moment in which he looks at her, the moment that she might be able to summon all her strength and attack him.

The stressor.

Except…there's nothing.

The fight leaves her muscles, an ache taking its place - but it is not the aches she is familiar with, the disappointment of an unthrown punch or a missed kick. It is the ache of the familiar, the ache of something that one wants back, but can no longer have. And she hates herself for it, for feeling this strange sense of pity. Of wanting and of never having. Of the predisposed toughness that won't let her admit this, not even to herself.

The moment passes, though she feels as if it has lasted longer than she would have ever imagined. Eyes locked in some kind of struggle, his injured face tilting in that peculiar manner he always had.

He nods in the slightest manner before Thor departs from them, off to see Odin, of course. He is not as rough with the Trickster as she would have been, his large hands finding gentle purchase on the slim man, though he is not as soft with him as she would have expected.

She watches them go, and finds herself walking after them as if possessed, the familiar footfalls of her fellow warriors behind her.

Sif finds her eyes fastened on his back, watching as he walks with that instilled regality. This is not a man defeated, but a man humbled.

There doesn't seem to be any words she can find that are appropriate for this situation, though the one important question rings through her mind, one that she wants to ask but cannot find the will to.

_What has happened to you, Loki?_


End file.
